Lost Boy
by UnabashedBird
Summary: Sam and Jess meet in a park when they're kids. Years later, friends at Stanford, they figure it out.


April 1992

"Are you a lost boy?"

Sam looks up from his book, startled. There's a girl looking at him through the gap in the bushes. She's got tan skin and curly blonde hair and a quizzical expression.

"I'm not lost," Sam says, flustered that she snuck up on him like that, and not sure he understands her question.

She giggles. "No, not are you lost, are you a Lost Boy? Like in _Peter Pan_," she clarifies.

"Oh. I don't think so. I mean, I've never been to Neverland," he says, smiling tentatively. He wonders if Peter Pan is real, if he's a monster, too. Dad said the Tooth Fairy was a monster, so why not Peter Pan? He still doesn't like thinking about all the monsters and what they could do to him and his family. What they'd already done to his family. He reaches into his pocket and grasps the protective charm Uncle Bobby made for him.

The girl looks disappointed. "Oh. That's too bad. You look like a Lost Boy, and I've always wanted to go to Neverland."

Sam thinks about the boys in animal skins in the movie, and his incredulity shows on his face. "I do?"

"Not like in the cartoon, but you look like the ones in _Hook_. You know, the movie that came out at Christmas? It's my favorite Peter Pan. Anyway, you dress the same as those Lost Boys, and . . . I dunno, you just look like them," she tells him, studying him thoughtfully. "Maybe you're a Lost Boy but you don't _know_ you're one."

"How could I be a Lost Boy without knowing it?" he asks, perplexed.

"I dunno. Hey, do you want some cookies?" she asks, crawling the rest of the way into the encircling bushes. There's barely space for the two of them to sit facing each other. Sam peers over her shoulder, checking to make sure he can still see Dean; he can: Dean is still kicking a soccer ball around with a bunch of boys his own age. In the meantime, the girl has produced a plastic container full of chocolate chip cookies.

"Where'd those come from?" Sam asks, baffled.

"This is my fort," she explains, taking the lid off the cookies and holding them out to him. Tentatively, he takes one, but he doesn't eat it yet. She sets the box in her lap and digs through the cookies, eventually taking two, one in each hand. She takes a thoughtful bite and chews slowly while Sam watches in fascination.

"How can it be _your_ fort if it's in the park?" he asks.

She shrugs. "No one else comes in here, so it's mine. Eat your cookie, I wanna know what you think!" She takes a bite out of the cookie in her other hand, cocking her head in contemplation as she chews.

"Why are you eating like that?"

"'Cause I'm trying to make the best cookie recipe in the world. I made these two days ago, so now I gotta see how they are when they're not fresh."

"But they're all in the same container. How d'you know which are which?"

"Of _course_ they're all in the same container. They have to be treated the _same_, otherwise it's not good _science_. And I can tell 'cause I used different kinds of chocolate chips." She studies Sam's still-uneaten cookie, then digs another one out. "Eat that one, then this one, and tell me what one you like better," she says, handing Sam the second cookie.

He does as he's told. They're both delicious, but he thinks the one with the darker chocolate chips—she's right, you can tell—is better, so that's what he tells her.

"That's what I think, too," she says, smiling. "But I think we'd better eat more, just to be sure. Eating lots of cookies is OK if it's for science," she concludes. "Don't you think?"

"Definitely," Sam says, grinning and grabbing two more, checking to make sure one has light chips and the other dark. "I'm Sam, by the way."

She says something in response, but he can't understand it at all because she tries to say it around a huge mouthful of cookie. They stare at each other for a moment, and then they both burst out laughing, and when she has a hard time laughing around the half-chewed cookie still in her mouth, they only laugh harder, until she's forced to lean over and spit in the bushes. Once they calm down, she covers the slobbery, half-chewed cookie with dirt.

"That's a lot of cookie you're wasting. I think you have to have more. For science," Sam tells her, grinning.

"You're right! But before I do, what I was _trying_ to say was, hi Sam, I'm Jessie."

The finish their cookies in amicable near-silence, though Jessie almost loses another mouthful when Sam catches her eye right as she takes a bite. She pulls up a handful of grass and throws it at him once she gets herself under control, and then he helps her pick out the pieces that fell into the cookies.

"How come I've never seen you at school?" she asks, laying down on her stomach, kicking her legs over her head, and leaning her chin in her hands.

"I don't go to school here. We're just in town for a few days for my dad's job."

"Oh. What grade're you in? I'm in second grade, and I'm eight-and-a-quarter!" she tells him proudly.

"Uh, third grade. I'll be nine in two days."

"Really? Wow! Will you still be here or will you go home so you can have a party with your friends?"

"Oh, uh, I don't think we'll be here . . ." Sam trails off. He wants to tell her that he doesn't have a home and friends to go back to, that he'd rather be here and eat cookies with her in her fort than on the road on the way to the next monster Dad is going to fight.

She begins picking daisies and threading them together.

"What're you doing?" he asks.

"Making you a birthday crown."

"Oh. Thanks." There's a strange but pleasant warmth spreading through Sam's chest. The longer he spends with Jessie, the more he resents that they'll be leaving Palo Alto so soon.

"And it'll make you look more like a Lost Boy."

"C'mon, Lost Boys don't wear flowers."

"In _Hook_ they do. Well, leaves at least, and they're both plants, so it still counts."

They're quiet for a while, Jessie concentrating on the daisy chain, Sam watching her in fascination.

"There!" she announces triumphantly, tying off the ends and carefully placing the completed crown on Sam's head. He smiles shyly, and she smiles back. "I think it'd be nice to be a Lost Boy. Or a Lost Girl," she says wistfully, admiring her handiwork.

"Yeah," he replies, thinking about how, even though they had lots of dangerous adventures, the Lost Boys got to go home and sleep in the same bed every night.

Jessie notices his abandoned book in the grass: an old hardback of _The Hobbit_ that Uncle Bobby said he could keep. "If you want you can smoosh your crown in that book when you're done wearing it, and it'll go all dry and flat but still look nice," she tells him.

"Thanks, I'll try that," he says. That warm feeling is back in his chest, and he wants to hold onto it forever. "Have you read it?" he asks.

"Read what?"

"_The Hobbit_. It's the book I was reading."

"Oh! Yeah, my parents read it to me. It's awesome!"

They discuss the various things that make the book awesome while Sam fumblingly attempts to make Jessie a daisy crown to match his own, but it's harder than it looks and soon he's too absorbed in the conversation and gives up the enterprise. Far too soon, they are interrupted by an adult's voice calling Jessie's name.

"That's my parents. Guess it's time to go home," she tells Sam, getting up and dusting herself off. Struck by an impulse he doesn't fully understand, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out the small, protective charm.

"Wait," he says, just as she's about to duck back through the bushes. "I . . . I want you to have this," he stammers, holding out the charm. "It's for luck." It's for more than that, but she doesn't need to know that part. After all, there's monsters out there, and her dad doesn't fight them like his does. He wants her to be safe. And he wants to give her something, and this is all he can think of.

"Wow, thanks!" she says, flashing him a grin. "Hey, will you still be here tomorrow?" she asks, hopefully.

"I think so."

"So I'll see you tomorrow, then!" And she ducks out.

Sam can't stop smiling as he gingerly removes his daisy chain two-day-early birthday crown and presses it between the pages of the book. As much as he loves it, he'd rather die than let Dean or Dad catch him wearing it. Besides, he doesn't want to tell them about Jessie. He wants this, meeting her and eating cookies and wearing a flower crown and talking about a book with someone nice, to be all his.

. . .

It's easy to convince Dean to go back to the park the next day. He brings the book—he told Dean the little clearing in the bushes was a great reading spot, and anyway he wants to show Jessie that he did like she said with the crown—but he's so excited to see her again, it's hard to concentrate on the story. He realizes that he thinks of Jessie as his friend.

Finally, _finally_ he hears the long-anticipated rustle of the bushes, and she comes in, messy curls first. "Hi Lost Boy!" she says enthusiastically. She's kneeling in front of him, practically bouncing.

"Hi," he says, suddenly shy.

"I brought you a birthday present!" she bursts out excitedly.

Sam is floored. "But . . . but you already shared your cookies and gave me a daisy chain. Look, I put it in the book, just like you said—" But she waves the book down.

"Those weren't _presents_," she tells him authoritatively, and reaches into her pocket and pulls out . . . Sam's not sure what it is. It's small and silver and open on one side so it sits on her finger.

"Do you know what it is?" she asks eagerly, but almost as if she hopes he'll get it wrong.

"I . . . no."

She grins. "It's a _kiss_. I'm giving you a kiss!" and she drops it into his palm, giggling. Sam stares at her, confused and a little dazed. She notices his expression and calms enough to explain.

"Don't you _remember_? From _Peter Pan_?"

"It's been a really long time since I've seen it," he admits.

She sighs. "That's a thimble. I think it's for sewing or something. But in _Peter Pan_, thimbles are kisses. Get it? Because you're my Lost Boy?"

And now he does remember, and he does get it, and before he can stop to think about it he's thrown his arms around her, because this just might be the best present he's ever gotten. She hugs him back, laughing.

"Thank you," he says.

She digs into her pocket again and pulls out a keychain. "Look," she says, shaking it. "I put your charm on so it'll be easy to keep with me." Sure enough, there it is with what looks like a house key, a small key—maybe for a diary?—and a small plastic frog.

She's reaching for the cookie stash when—"Sammy? Dad's here! Time to go!" He hears Dean's footsteps coming towards the bushes, and he doesn't want to be found.

"I have to go!" he whispers urgently, pocketing the thimble-kiss and grabbing his book. "Thank you for, well, for everything," is all he has time for before bursting out of Jessie's fort, yelling "Coming!"

"Bye, Sam," she says, too late for him to hear. She realizes that he won't be back, and it makes her sad.

March 2004

Sam's phone goes off, and the caller ID says Jessica, which is a little odd, since she only left his apartment a few minutes ago. "Hey. Everything OK?"

"Not sure. I think my keys fell out of my pocket and I'm really, _really_ hoping that they're at your place and not on the ground somewhere between here and there. I'm heading back your way right now, and I was hoping maybe you could help me look?"

"Yeah, of course. See you in a few."

He finds her keys in the couch cushions—they must've fallen out during the movie. Something about them is tickling at his memory, and he takes a closer look. Car keys, dorm key, a house key, mailbox key, another small key, a small plastic frog and . . . no. It couldn't possibly be . . . but it is. It's a simple protective charm, just like the one he gave the girl named Jessie, in a park in Palo Alto, two days before his ninth birthday.

Sam is still reeling at the possibility that something this _good_ could possibly be happening when he hears Jessica knocking on the door. He gives himself a shake, opens the door, and invites her in.

Once she's inside, he hand her the keys. "They were in the couch," he tells her. "And I really need to ask you a question about them."

"O-k."

"The . . . charm, or whatever it is. Not the frog, the other thing. Where did you get it?"

She's smiling now, separating the charm out from the keys and holding it fondly. "It's a funny little thing, isn't it? A Lost Boy gave it to me. I mean, not—"

"Not a boy who was lost, but a Lost Boy, like in Peter Pan," Sam supplies, unable to suppress his grin.

"Yeah, but how did you—?"

"Just hold that thought, OK? I need to show you something," and he runs to his room, grabs his old hardback of _The Hobbit_, and comes back.

"The boy's name was Sam," Jessica says quietly as soon as he's sitting next to her again.

"Yes it was," he agrees, opening the back cover to show her where the daisy chain crown is still pressed. "And," he says, fishing in his pocket, "I've carried that kiss around ever since. It was my first, so it had to be lucky," he tells her as he finds the thimble, holding it out to her on his finger, just as she once did for him.

"I can't believe it," she says. "I can't believe it was you, and now you're here, and we're friends, and . . . that's amazing."

"Yeah," says Sam. "It is." He hesitates, but then tells her, "I missed you, you know. I didn't want to have to leave like that."

She smiles at him, a little sadly. "I missed you, too. I mean, I mostly wondered where you went. I hoped you had a good birthday: I imagined the party you had with all your friends."

"Well, that didn't happen, but you know what did?" he wants to focus on the joy of this, not the sour memories of his childhood and the way her limited knowledge of it makes her sad for him.

"What?" she asks, catching the twinkle in his eye.

"You figured out that recipe for the best cookies in the world."

"Flatterer," she laughs, just like he knew she would, and in that moment Sam lets himself know, fully know, that he loves her. They've never been on a date, but they're friends, and she's the most amazing person he's ever met, and he loves her.

Now it's Jessica's eyes that twinkle, but not only with mischief. "Hey Lost Boy," she says, scooting closer and leaning towards him just a little, "I think I'd like my kiss back."

Sam stares, takes in her body language and the way her eyes are shining at him. Still, he has to be sure, has to be absolutely sure, so he reaches out, takes her hand, and carefully transfers the thimble from his finger to hers. She smiles, reaches out, and lays the hand with the thimble on it against his cheek.

"No, silly. I mean, a _real_ kiss."


End file.
